Chris Simms: Killing the Beasts

Jon skidded to a halt and jumped from the car, leaving its door hanging open as he charged up his sister's path. It had started raining and drops bounced off his head as he moaned, 'Keys.' He realized Ellie's spare set was still in the kitchen drawer back at his place. He hammered with his fist, then crouched down and shouted her name through the letterbox.

There was no reply, but he could see her coat and handbag in the hallway. Taking a step back, he flexed his knees once then, fixing his eyes on the section of wood immediately below the key hole, he brought the heel of his shoe crashing against the door. Wood splintered and, slamming his shoulder against it, he fell through into her house. Forgetting all his training, Jon blundered onwards, down the corridor and in to the front room.

Ellie lay on the floor, arms out at her sides, eyes rolled up into her head. His momentum had carried him several steps across the carpet, and Jon began to turn, knowing he had exposed himself to an attack from behind. Something crashed onto the back of his neck. Purple flooded his vision and he dropped to his knees, the jarring impact snapping his head to the side and sending a wave of pins and needles shooting up his spine. He felt himself falling to the side, but was unable to raise his hands to cushion the fall.

Tom turned the glue gun round in his hands so the solid metal plunger faced outwards. The voices screamed their encouragement and he raised the implement high in to the air, ready to smash it down onto the man's skull with all his strength. But then he saw the large number seven on his back. Slowly, his eyes moved up to the man's face.

Kill him!

Tom remained still, his lips barely moving. 'But it's Jon. I know this man. He's wearing your number. What should I do? He's wearing your number.'

The colour began to melt away from Jon's vision and he found himself kneeling with his upper body half slumped forward on the sofa. Looking down, Ellie's face was inches from his. He watched as she breathed slowly out. Then he heard Tom plead behind him, 'But he's wearing your number. I cannot.'

Footsteps suddenly ran from the room and out of the house. Using the arm of the sofa, Jon got unsteadily to his feet. There was barely any feeling in his legs and, as he took his first tottering steps, he wasn't sure if his knees would buckle. But his legs held firm, growing stronger each time he felt a foot connect with the floor. By the time he reached the front door, he could feel the adrenaline pumping right down to his toes. He jogged down Ellie's path. A rocket exploded in the sky above him and, through the sheets of rain, he was just able to see a figure running round the corner at the end of the street. Jon exploded on to the pavement, sprinting the first sixty metres without taking a breath. He reached the end of the road and looked up to see the silhouette cutting towards the A6.

'Tom!' he yelled at the top of his voice.

Tom glanced over his shoulder and saw Jon closing on him fast. He cried out for guidance and was told to run for the main road. Reaching the pavement, he looked to his side. Down the road an eighteen-ton Argos lorry trundled towards him. He knew that its thirty-foot-long container would be packed with every type of household item imaginable. Enough merchandise to meet demand at the Manchester store for less than a week.

Tom strode purposefully across the lanes and into the vehicle's path. Raising the palms of his hands outwards, he closed his eyes and commanded the vehicle to halt. He felt the power of the Masters coursing down his arms and imagined the light that must be crackling from his fingertips.

At the kerb, Jon could only watch as the driver stamped on his brakes. Rain pouring off the vehicle's mudflaps suddenly flew forward on a diagonal trajectory under the vehicle's huge tyres. The lorry began to slide over the wet road surface. The first thing to connect with Tom's outstretched hands was the grille below the cab. As both arms were driven out of his shoulder sockets, a moving wall of metal slammed into his face and chest. Like some grotesque mascot pinioned to the vehicle, he was carried back for over forty feet, straight past Jon, before the vehicle slowed enough to let him slip down.

As his head slammed against the tarmac, Tom's right eye opened a fraction, allowing him to see an infinite galaxy of brilliant stars. An instant later, the first tyre rolled directly over his head.

'Oh my God!' someone screamed.

A couple of people were jogging uncertainly to the motionless lorry, the driver already on his mobile phone.

Jon bent over his knees for a moment, breathing heavily after his sprint. Ellie. He must get back to her. He straightened up, turned and began walking back to her house, his pace quickening as a desire to distance himself from Tom's mangled corpse combined with concern for his sister. As he neared her house, he could see a woman approaching in the opposite direction. Alice. He held up an arm and she stopped running. 'Jon! What's happened? Where's Ellie?'

'In here. We'll need an ambulance. She's been drugged. 'He took her hand and led her towards the open front door.

'Is it safe? Where's Tom?'

'Tom's gone.' The sight of Ellie on the carpet caused Jon to fall to his knees. He slid a hand under her head, lifted it up and pressed his cheek against hers. In the hallway he could hear Alice on the phone, demanding an ambulance. He hugged her close, rocking back and forth as if he was comforting a baby. After a few moments he felt Alice's arms curling round his head and the tears suddenly came.